


Pressure

by PaperRevolution



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 20:25:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperRevolution/pseuds/PaperRevolution
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU. The pressure of Eponine's paranoia begins to take its toll on her relationship with Combeferre.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pressure

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to illustrate why, much as I find this pairing interesting, I don't think it could ever feasibly work without a boatload of angst. As such, I don't actually ship Eponine/Combeferre, but this was interesting to write, nevertheless, and I hope it passes muster.

He feels smaller; his bones are compressing under the weight of the combined tension; the knot of friction between him and her that is always, always growing.

She presses a hand to her mouth, her back folding downward, limp hair hanging in her face. Her eyes blink, bloodshot. She’s trying to stifle the hitch in her breathing, and failing miserably.

“Eponine,” he says, “Come on, now. Please don’t do this today.” Though his words are quiet and level, there’s taut desperation in them.

“Yeah, well,” she sniffs, “Not as if I know when I’ll next get a chance to talk to you, is it? You’re never here.”

Combeferre pinches the bridge of his nose. A headache is building insistently behind his eyes. With difficulty, he restrains a sigh.

“Do you even care about me.” Eponine’s voice is flat. It’s a bare accusation, rather than a question.

He fights the urge to go to her; to pull her gently to him and reassure her. They can’t keep doing this.

“Of course I do,” his answer feels arbitrary, and that scares him. At what point did she become an excruciating particular - an idea rather than a girl? A dusty blot on his consciousness? This isn’t fair to either of them.

And what on Earth is he supposed to do about it? He can’t leave her. He knows that. Her frenetic agony and his guilt act as adherents. 

He feels wretched, and selfish for feeling that way at all. He shuts his eyes for a moment, breathing out in a slow release. His head throbs.

“I won’t be gone long,” he tells her, making for the door and feeling like an atrocity. Wrapped up in a helpless scrawl of paranoia though she is, Eponine, he cannot help thinking, deserves better than him.


End file.
